Days of our Quest
by DarkMaidenEast
Summary: The Lord of the Rings gets a soap opera makeover! Arwen carrying Legolas' child, Saruman coming out of the closet, and lots lots more make up this, er, interesting rendition of the classic.


The Departure of the Fellowship– Soap Opera Style!

"Look not too far ahead! But go now with good hearts! Farewell, and may the blessings of Elves and Men and all Free Folk go with you. May the stars shine upon your faces!" Elrond said.

Aragorn paused as the Company departed and returned to where Arwen Undomiel waited. He took up her hand and brought it to his lips. "I shall return," he promised, heart heavy with grief. "I would not leave, yet it is mine destiny."

Arwen avoided his gaze, seeking the eyes of Legolas of Northern Mirkwood.

He shook his head slowly from side to side, mouthing "do not tell him."

Arwen sighed and lowered her eyes. "I'm sorry," she murmured. "I must let him know. I cannot let you leave without unburdening my conscience! What if you never return?"

"I shall return for you!" Legolas and Aragorn assured her simultaneously.

Aragorn raised his eyebrows. "What?" he asked, voice dangerously low as he turned to face the emissary from the Northern Realm.

"Please, let me explain," Arwen intervened, stepping between Legolas and Aragorn, who had begun to finger bow and sword, respectively. "I know we had an . . . understanding, Aragorn, but -" she broke off, looking around for the source of the strange, sappy music that had begun playing.

"Oh! Sorry," Pippin Took, whose real name was Peregrin, though no one used it, put down his fiddle sheepishly. "I was just practicing. . . ." he trailed off.

"It's all right," Elrond assured him, feeling that somehow Pippin's squeaks lent themselves well to the situation.

"Okay," the hobbit raised the instrument again, lighting into it with perhaps a bit more vim and vigor than was strictly necessary.

Aragorn sidestepped Arwen, coming face to face with Legolas. "You've got some explaining to do, Elf." he spoke quietly, but there was no denying the dignity, the authority in his low voice.

"Please, Estel, let me explain." Arwen moved in front of him once more.

Pippin intensified his playing, a tune that would have sent even Tom Bombadil running for the hills.

"Estel?" Sam muttered to Merry, (or Meriadoc, if you like, which you shouldn't, because that name doesn't suit him one bit), who stood next to him. "Isn't that kind of girly, Mr. Brandybuck?"

"Yeh," Merry answered, "but you shouldn't be talking."

"Huh?"

"Never mind."

Sam shrugged, and turned his attention back to the irate Ranger. "I always thought his name was Strider," he muttered. "Leastways, that's what he always called himself."

Merry rolled his eyes. "Pseudonym, ass."

Sam nodded sagely, secretly wondering what kind of a donkey a sudynim was, and why Merry was talking about them. He'd always thought Master Merry was a bit cracked.

"There is nothing to say, Arwen," Aragorn continued. "You swore your love to me, forsaking the immortal life of your people to-"

"That's enough!" Elrond burst out. "If you must know, this was my idea. I hardly liked the thought of leaving my only daughter to die in Middle-Earth when all the Elves go traipsing off to Valinor!"

Aragorn turned on his host, fire kindling in his gray eyes. "How could you forsake the feelings of your own kin?" he queried, the soft tone of his voice belied by his gritted teeth.

"Do not blame him, Estel," Arwen placed her hand on his arm.

He shook it off. "Who then shall I blame? Elros for choosing mortality? My people for choosing this as their haven? Or perhaps you, Arwen. How long have you been leading me on? Well over a life-span of men!" He stopped, disgusted, and threw his hands up in the air.

"You're being very selfish about all this," Arwen muttered sulkily. "How could I not have an affair? You're always off on some cock-and-bull adventure, leaving me here. Do you realize the only hot guys here are my _brothers_? I don't even want to go there. So when I received an invitation to visit Mirkwood, how could I refuse? The guys there are _so_ much butcher."

"Legolas is _butch_?" Boromir muttered.

An Elf standing near him nodded. "Yeah. Even for Mirkwood, he's built."

"Wow. That's sad."

By now Pippin's fiddle had popped a string or two and was beginning to smoke as the hobbit rubbed the wood relentlessly, but he played on, to the disappointment of the keen-eared Elves. This was worse than Gandalf's showing off with his _Ash Nazg..._ routine at the Council. He may be one of the Istari, and counted Wise among those who know, but his sense of humor left much to be wished, especially his comedy routines. Not that anyone was about to tell him, Gandalf was particularly subtle and quick to anger, even for a wizard.

Aragorn looked away with a stifled curse. "The woman I love, I am _destined_ to love, betrays me, and I am not to worry? Milady, and Milord," he turned to Elrond, "this is beyond the ken of a mere man, even Dunadan." Aragorn looked up, finally noticing the eyes of everyone present were glued to him. Most had the decency to look away. Or, rather, everyone but the Hobbits had the decency to look away, except Frodo who was stroking his shiny ring and Bilbo who was growling softly, watching him.

"Don't you all have somewhere to be?" The Dunadan asked pointedly, and the crowd dispersed.

Gandalf sighed. He'd hoped everyone could get along, but as long as he was left alone it didn't matter all that much. "Off to Mordor," he muttered, walking out the gates of Rivendell.

The rest of the Fellowship followed silently, with much glaring and anger among them.


End file.
